Yoga Day 2:
1. It’s easier in that I kinda know what’s coming.1 It’s harder in that I’m trying to do it better. Bitches.
2. I hadn’t done the set since before I went down to Tom’s so I was curious as to how I’d hold up. Two thoughts here:
2a. Pretty surprised at myself that I forced myself to do it. There was a moment where I seriously wondered if procrastination was going to win the day.
2b. Once again, a rather emotional response at the end. I’ll have to talk to C about that.2
3. I’m not a morning person, but thanks, Judas, for being a crackhead and waking me up.
4. I can see how this can be addicting, too.
5. Fuck you, Yoga. See you tomorrow.
For Father’s Day, Reza made me one of those tiles you paint and gift. It’s black and white with a painted black border, a red I Love You and Heart, and a Black Skull. I put my coffee on it every morning, so it’s doing the job, but I like it better when there’s no cup on it. It makes me smile.
They’ve been gone a few days short of a week and emotionally it’s felt like much longer. Physically, though, I’ve been busy and focused and with work reconvening this week, I’m sure the next 10 days or so will fly by. I’m excited. I know they’re having a good time – not without its challenges, mind you – but it’s been a phenomenal experience for Reza to be around friends and family; Ivonne sent me a few pictures of Reza with Killian at lunch and there’s a very real part of me that feels guilty for taking her from that. Truth is, though, these moments are special because of infrequency; there’s simply not enough time for Alpha Contention to filigree the impressionable heart.
Oh my. If that’s wasn’t a projection, not sure what is.
Speaking of headspace: The last few weeks have been really good. I’m able to recognize progress – which is good – but I’m also seeing ways that I regress into long-held habits.
For instance: I’ve got a lot of “things” I need/want to do. I’m working on one track that’s coming together rather nicely: I feel I’m “behind” a bit, but that’ll be fixed the next couple days. I’m taking two online classes through Coursera that haven’t received full attention, but I attribute that to being out of town this weekend and all the travel-prep and family time during the beginning of the week. Now, I’m not sure if these are standard JC excuses, or real incidents that incur acceptable delays, but the difference is that I’m looking forward to forcing myself to make it happen. I’m seeing the value of the finished product for the first time in a long while. That’s a really good thing for me.
Now, if only I could talk myself into another yoga session.
Hey, don’t get me wrong: Physical progression is just as important as mental and emotional foundationalism, but christ if I’m having a hard time throwing the mat back down and doing session number two. Gonna do it though. Gotta do it. Fuck me. And fuck that bitch telling me to do sideways-facing bat-dog pose like it’s no big deal. Fuck you, evil whore. Go ahead, put your forehead back on your shin, see what happens to you. Bet your pussy smells.
Before all that though, I’m having Big Gay Dinner with Seth tonight. Sushi anyone?
I’ve needed this, no doubt. But I miss my girls. Can’t wait to see their shining faces.
The girls are gone. The place is empty.
Dropped right into recording and I agree with Chase when we were discussing the other day: the first take is
always usually the best. You get that raw, emotional feeling out of it before it becomes a pattern, a cadence, a mechanism. I’m looking forward to seeing where this one goes. The goal is to get this done and off to Spenc0r before the girls get home.
I got that shit handled.
Sometimes people get a raw deal. Sometimes there’s not a fucking thing in the world you can do about it except watch and listen. Those are the worst times for a friend of those in need or trouble. I really wish I could help… but yeah. Nothing I can do but be that guy who, when it’s time to look around for those who can support you, will be right there. Was all the time.
I know Ivonne’s worried about a lot of things on this trip and a secret little part of her is concerned I’m going to run to the liquor store, pay for a whole bunch of shitty beer with my credit card and pass out on the couch. I’ve got card in hand, sure, but it’s poised for Carnitas greatness. Then, I’m coming back here, I’m gonna write some words down and make a badass song.
Wish me luck.
It’s swampy out there tonight. Cool but humid. Weird ass shit, says me.
Guess who’s not going to work tomorrow? Guess who’s not going to work all week?
Carrot Cake is the business.
So the girls are off to SD on Wednesday. I’m gonna spend some time with them Monday and Tuesday, get them on the plane, then head to Tom’s on Friday. In between all that, I’ve got a song to finish arranging and some test vox to drop. I’m really can’t wait to dive in…
I’m coming to terms with the fact that the relationships I have with people may not be or have been the best. As a matter of fact, many of them have been less than optimal for either of us. That’s not to say they can’t be fixed, because I’m doing that now and it’s paying off immediately, but you come to realize the relationships that are important – and more importantly – why.
I don’t know the answers, but I’m starting to see the questions and that’s progress.
One thing I’ve discovered: My relationship with alcohol, as toxic as it is, is a direct result of having what I’d consider a disrespectful relationship with myself. That goes for any other substance that can be abused. Food can be part of that, too, but that’s something for another time.
For now, though, I’mma enjoy the next few days, enjoy the grounding time, and really get some work done.
And also masturbation.
Ugh. I should know better than this.
Note to self: When done writing for the day, play something shittier than yours so as to not repeatedly punch yourself in the Dick of Creativity. That really hurts after a while.
So this has been a good weekend despite a significant lack of mobility: I was going to hit the skating rink and pussed out. I was going to hit the driving range but it got hot. Weah. So, I watched Doctor Who with my girl, the World Cup Final while playing Find The Hidden Bellybutton, more Doctor Who, and, when the girls went to the pool, started my arrangements.1 Granted, it’s just a shell, but I dare say it’ll work. It better fucking work; I’m gonna make it work. I’ll send it off to Spenc0r, he’ll work his magic and I’m back in business.
I gotta launch this fucking rocket, man.
So I’m gonna pick up my Chinese food in 20 minutes, watch some Monuments Men with my lady and wash clothes, ’cause I’m pretty sure I have Jack to wear for next week.
Speaking of next week, I’m excited about next week ’cause I’m more excited about the week after: Ivonne and Reza are going to San Diego next Wednesday and I’ve decided to take that entire week off – not only to spend with them before they go, but to see them off properly and check my head when they leave. I’d love to be able to go, but can’t… my Materia is spent. Gotta hit an Inn.
I feel simpler lately. Not sure why or where, but I feel… simpler. Like there are three things in front of me and each of them are manageable, rather than a smorgasbord of infinite options ripping at my particles.
Spencer had it right when he said one day: “Your problem is you have too many options. Maybe you’d be more productive if you limited yourself to what you can use…”
Chrometaphor. Hah! I’ll always get the last laugh, Nemesis.
- If you know me AT ALL, this is really good progress. Really. [↩]
Yeah, so I’ve been sitting here looking at my screen trying to find the right words to effectively convey how happy I am for my hetero-life-mate and arch-nemesis Spenc0r.
I love that dude and he’s got a girl that loves him, so much so that he asked her to marry him and she said yes and there go all my hopes and dreams.
I guess I missed the boat. There it goes… sailing off into the glorious horizon with breasts at the helm. How can I compete with that?
So as the lonely tears mark their tracks from my ducts to the floor, I raise a glass1 to you, Lord and Soon-To-Be-Lady Zyxt. May the terror you wield together be as deep and terrible as the seas you sail, and may we meet again to wage our timeless battle, but only after you’ve weakened yourself with too much sex. Thus shall my victory be complete.
Fucking love you more that I can ever say, dude. Congratulations, and may all the happiness in the world be yours.
- See?! That’s funny under the circumstances! FUNNY! [↩]
Wow. This was kind of a fucked up couple weeks.
Not gonna go into it; I have some shame. Some.
Gorge on provisions from self-acceptance and unadulterated fear and you compromise the ways to deal with the demons that rear at the most inopportune times, or how to manage the updrafts, or how to glide albatross in your own doldrums. It’s tempestuous at best, debilitating at worst and I’m not managing them well lately, but that’s totally on me. There’s lots of reasons, mostly internal. Those that are external need to stay there and I’m remembering why I have been perfectly fine with that; I keep them at arm’s length for a reason.
I also use semicolons too much. *shrug*
The thing is, shit like this happens, but it’s not for lack of trying. Sometimes the barbarians scale the walls and you’ve got to beat them back before you can restore order. Other times, you’ve got conspirators in your midst. Right now, I’m sweeping up the shards of the stained glass windows and saging the room from the stink of insurrection. All in good time.
Someone’s been reading a lot of Byzantine History.
So this writing-a-book thing. It was starting to get me down ’cause saw no progress. Now it’s pissing me off. I hate being told that I can’t do something, can’t have something. The moment someone else has it, I wonder why I didn’t see its value. I see a story to be told, and fuck all if I’m not going to tell it. I seriously won’t let myself debilitate myself. It’s ridiculous.
So I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep sitting here, trying to figure out how to put words to paper, trial, tribulation, bullshit and angst all in the course of a few hours a night.
Lucky you: If i’m not writing there, I’m writing here and this gets blasted with piss.
It’s gotta land somewhere.
“Odd how it’s so much easier to write a single page than an entire blank book at once,” he grinned, and she thought he looked like he knew something nobody else did in the whole wide world.
Without asking, he took the book from her small hand and rotated it twice, as if he was inspecting the binding. Turning to a random page, he inspected the front, then the back, saw nothing but white. “Good. The flow, the diction, the unanticipated nuances of where the words – and worlds – take you aren’t remotely as confining as the ones you think you need to be building. This is a canvas, girl… Where is the paint?
He squinted slightly. “But you’ve got plan, don’t you?”
“I was given a book once,” he murmured. “Not these banal glue-bound periodicals on your shelf with names like ‘Mole goes to School,’ or ‘You Must Be Remedial If You Need To Use Fruit In Arithmetic’, but a real book. A book that opens your mind! A book that takes you to those places you will never hope to see with your earthly eyes, child… A book that unlocks the key to your very soul!”
He looked down at an arm – his arm? – gripping her tightly by the wrist. He inhaled sharply, closed his eyes, and let her hand fall. She stepped back two paces but did not run.
“It shows you every pitfall, every rationalization, every possible spear aimed at your heart from the Native Dark that will keep you from doing that which you were born to – and are afraid to – do…”
As his breathing slowed, he stroked his mustache with his right thumb as he was wont to do in those small vulnerable moments past distress and looked down his nose, monocle clenched tight in his right eye, magnifying the emotion he so carefully guarded.
“Believe you me, child,” he whispered as he picked a small yellow flower, and stroking her hair, slid it quietly behind her ear. “It will take you exactly where you need to be.”
“What book, sir?”
He grinned again, this time as a conspirator.
“The one in your hand, girl.”
a mini bio will go here. kneel before Zod!
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